Fairy Tale Theater IV by Howard Gayton

Monday, 21st November

Over the weekend I went to a small seaside town called Foz. It
was very windy, with waves crashing down over rocks. There were seagulls
pecking at dead fish on the shore and wonderful rocks that one could
stand on, hearing the sound of the sea. It gave me the idea of starting
the Fish Kingdom scene with a song and dance number, almost like a
Disney cartoon! I have the Beatles' 'Octopus's Garden' going around my
head.

This morning we worked on a calypso dance number for the Fish
Kingdom. We explored the fish–masks, and used ribbons of silk to create a
movement 'spectacular' of underwater choreography. It is very jolly,
and then moves into the scene of the oldest sister singing a haunting
song that expresses her 'saudades,' longing, for home.

Whilst on the rocks at the weekend, I had an image of the
youngest sister cradling her young brother in her arms, with the sea
splashing up around them. Sealskins are draped over the boy, as he is
near death, and the seals sing the songs of the ancients to call him
back to life. In order to get this 'shamanic journey' idea to work, I
need the cast to be in the 'feeling' of this. We can't show the
metaphorical aspects of the tale — partly because it's inappropriate, I
feel, in a children's play, and partly because it would be a diversion
from the plot — but in order to get the right
atmosphere for this scene, the cast needs to know what the boy is
going through in his inner soul journey.

I described the mythic tradition of a shaman's voyage into the
Spirit World, where the body is torn apart (or in some cases eaten) and
then put back together after a certain number of days. The actors then
split into three groups to work out a showing of just such a journey
into the Spirit World. I used lighting to create a dark atmosphere in
the space, and we sat in circle. Each group presented their tale, one
after the other, without breaking the atmosphere between the stories.
The watchers created a droning 'aah' sound all the way through,
underneath the stories.

The three stories were as follows:

Three naughty girl spirits took the body of a shaman, who had
died, and plucked out his eyes to play catch with them — after which
they set the eyes on an altar so that the dead man could see the path
ahead. Then they broke his skull to form a road, and broke his ribs so
that they fell on the path. Then the headless body collapsed. A
disembodied voice called out, asking the girls what they were doing,
chastising them, and telling them to put the shaman back together. The
spirits were sad, because they liked playing, and they cried. Their
tears formed a lake, which brought all the pieces of the shaman back
together.

The second tale had an amazing image at the start: A man was
doing exercises at the front of the 'stage.' This represented the human
world. Behind him, another actor was a tree, and there was also a bird,
created by a third actor's hands, which flew on and off the branches.
This was the world of nature. A fourth actor was prowling like a wolf,
but was clearly a spirit creature. This represented the Spirit World.
All three worlds co–existed in one image; incredible! When the man died,
he went to the Spirit World, where two 'wolf creatures' sucked out his
breath, then his flesh, and then his body, which they blew into the
stomach of the chief wolf.
All this was portrayed very clearly without words. The spirit of
the man spent three days in the wolf's stomach, getting more and more
agitated, which was portrayed by the wolf twisting in torturous pain.
After three days, the wolf blew life back into the man's body, first the
legs, then the arms, and finally the head.

In the fourth story, an old woman was murdered, and her spirit
was torn apart by Buffalo — which symbolized the physical. Then Lions
came and ate some of her flesh — symbolic of the emotions. Then Eagles
came and pecked at her brain — symbolic of rational thought. After the
woman's ravaged body lay in state for many days, butterflies came,
repaired it, and brought her back to life.

Immediately after telling these stories, and without disrupting
the ambiance, the cast set up the image we've created for the Seal
Kingdom, and then improvised that scene. It was incredibly moving and
beautiful. The actress playing the youngest sister had such concern for
the boy; and the interaction between her and the Seal King was very
touching. The Seal King brought the boy back to life by rattling
imaginary seashells over the boy's body.

Tuesday, 22nd November.

This morning we played a lot of games. I had to push the cast
through a barrier of not really playing them, but of just going through
the motions. Through my urging, we eventually reached the point where
games are meant to be: where we are fully engaged, lost in the
excitement, not thinking.

Simple games contain so much about theater. A dramatic
performance in English is known as a 'play' — and play and make–believe
are the foundations of our work on this show. We are doing this play
because we enjoy it, and it is important to remember this as we move
onto a different phase of the work — where we will have to block things
in more, and repeat them, without the exhilarating energy of
improvisation. We need to remember the place we reached in one of the
games where we worked ourselves into such excitement that we were
screaming and laughing like idiots!

What can we learn from games?

That they only work if we are fully present, focused, and
reacting rather than 'thinking,' which is the state we should be in when
we perform.

They teach us that if we 'drop' the game, we can decide not to
get thrown by this but to 'pick up the ball' (or, in the case of the
game we played, the sound of the hand clap) straight away and get on with
it. We don't have to let the energy drop too, as it is then harder to
regain the flow. When applied to performance, this helps us to
understand the importance of the flow of the piece.

They teach us the value of eye contact, and how important this is for us in both receiving and giving.

They teach us to 'listen' to the pace of something, and that we can inject energy if needed to pick the pace up.

They also leave us invigorated and alive, as we have been in a 'flow state.'

I am aware that we are moving into a new part of the process. We
have started to work through the early part of the play, to fill in bits
we have not worked on, and to tighten up bits that we have — to work on
the dynamics of the movement between images, the choreography, and the
attitude of the cast when moving or sitting. We are hiding the mechanics
of the piece so that the images seem to appear out of nowhere, and, in
effect, creating magic. Magic is all about concentration, intention,
direction and misdirection.
There is a point where a number of the actors need to get rid of
some flat cardboard puppets, and other members of the cast have to move
into another position. To cover what could be a very ugly piece of stage
business, we do two things: A line of storytellers is formed, each
telling a line of story in an energetic way. Behind them the others
move, not trying to be hidden, but moving with precision, directness and
simple, fluid grace. The result is that they are hardly noticed,
whereas if they tried to creep about they would be noticed. Skilful
actors
know how to exercise their energy to be seen, and how to withdraw
that energy so the audience doesn't look at them! A good actor can
disappear on stage and then re–appear.

This morning I had the realization that I was circling what I
call the 'dark forest' of the work — the part that is hardest, where one
can get lost. I don't really want to go there, but must, for it is an
important part of the creative process. I have been in the dark woods so
many times in my career, and I know that I almost always come out; I
know some of its pathways now. The image I have is of a knight venturing
into the forest — but this time it's down a path that is semi–familiar.
No doubt there will still be surprises and dangers, but he recognizes
the path,
avoids some of its wrong turns, and he carries a magical light with
him. The forest is similar to the Western road in Native American
tradition: the dark place that you must travel through as part of your
journey on the Medicine Wheel of life. It is hard, but necessary, for
there is wisdom to be gained from it, once you get out the other side.

The work on the play is harder now. I no longer send the cast off
to create things by themselves and we are not improvising scenes
(though we may use these working methods again in the future). I've been
guiding the creation of the play all along, but this is the point where
I must take more control as the director. I am editing the piece, and
'blocking' moves in to connect images and scenes that we have developed.
Of course there are still spontaneous creative moments, but this part
of the work is more focused, intense, and tiring. The actors and I need
to pace our energy, so that we peak at just the right time.
I know this from playing Backgammon. If you peak too soon, your
plans are pointless, but time your moves right and they work
beautifully!